


T Ball

by Lovedmoviesb



Series: The Famous Rick Grimes [10]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grimes 2.0, Richonne - Freeform, Rookie Year, the Plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb
Summary: Rick's worried about Carl's lack of enthusiasm for the family sport. Michonne comes to her son's defense.





	T Ball

"I think our son is bad at baseball."

Rick wore a half-stunned expression as he said it, as though the very notion left him gobsmacked. Michonne looked up from her casework to stare at her husband.

"What makes you think that?" she asked lightly, doing her best to sound impartial.

Rick's distress increased. "Baby," he began. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Michonne bit back her laugh. "Carl's distractible, sure—"

"Chonne," Rick fixed her with a serious stare.

"Rick," she fired right back. "He's five."

"Ok, but Dre is three and—"

"Are you comparing our sons?" Michonne asked, mock-aghast.

Rick quickly rephrased. "So at t-ball practice, Dre is knocking balls clear across the field and Carl…" he trailed off.

"Is crouched down in the grass looking for ladybugs?" Michonne offered helpfully.

"See!" Rick sat beside her at the kitchen table. "You did notice."

Michonne shook her head, closing her laptop. "Baby, tell me something," she prompted, cupping his bearded chin in one hand. "Are the boys having fun?"

"They are," he nodded.

"Then let them have fun. Carl and Dre are excited to be hanging out with their daddy. So what that Carl can't hit—"

"He hits," Rick clarified. "Just the tee, not the ball."

Michonne chuckled. "He'll get better. I hear his dad is an All-Star. I'm sure they'll practice."

"What if he ends up hating baseball?" The thought left Rick morose, his brow creasing.

"He won't," Michonne assured him. "But he might end up liking basketball better."

She laughed as her husband made a face akin to eating sour fruit. "Basketball…" he muttered the word beneath his breath.

"They'll be up from their nap soon," Michonne glanced at the clock. "Why don't we all practice?"

They found themselves in the backyard scarcely a half hour later, Michonne's work pushed aside in lieu of wearing a faded baseball cap and worn-in glove. She was fielding balls as Dre and Carl smacked them towards her with an aluminum bat. Rather, Dre was smacking them towards her. Carl was attempting to sword fight with the bat. Rick caught her eye as he attempted to get Carl back on track for the umpteenth time.

"You can do it, Carl," Michonne called out encouragement, catching her boys' attention.

"Can I go play with mommy?" Carl dropped the bat at once, already rushing towards Michonne.

"Here," she slid the glove on to his tiny hand. "Can you catch Dre's ball and throw it back to Daddy?"

"Can I look for worms?" Carl questioned, already peering into the bushes.

"After this, ok?" She knelt down.

"Ok," Carl sighed at the inconvenience, but turned his body towards his little brother and father.

"Ok, Dre," Rick ruffled their youngest son's hair. "Give Carl something to catch."

Dre rose to the occasion with magnificent form, sending the ball sailing towards the fence. Carl loped after it, running a crooked path to snatch it off the ground.

"Throw it, Carl, throw it!" Dre dropped the bat to cheer on his brother.

With a deep breath, Carl hiked his arm back, and whipped the ball forward—

Right into the closed window.

It shattered to screams of confusion and delight by both boys. Rick and Michonne stared, flabbergasted.

"Sorry!" Carl yelled, catching Dre as the younger boy tackled him headlong into the grass.

"Don't be," Rick was still staring. "You must have thrown that 50 feet—" his glee was poorly disguised.

"Rick," Michonne cautioned.

"I'm just saying, Chonne," Rick grinned. "I didn't break my first window until fourth grade at least."

"Baby," she walked towards him, leaning against him as he tucked her under his arm. "Maybe we shouldn't encourage them to break windows."

"Sure," Rick nodded, not comprehending a word she said.

"You're cleaning it up," Michonne shook her head, removing her cap to toss it onto her husband's wayward curls. "I'm going back to work."

Rick caught her around the waist, tugging her back for a kiss.

"Maybe he'll be a pitcher," Rick mused against her lips. "Dre said he wants to catch one day."

Michonne laughed, releasing him. "Maybe, babe." She watched as Rick ran back to their boys, matching their childlike energy. "Maybe."


End file.
